


Bring You Back

by liberty_rose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Depression, M/M, major character death mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-11-25 07:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liberty_rose/pseuds/liberty_rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>High school A/U: His brother is dead, his parents are dead; Dean Winchester is alone. He falls from popularity and the social scene. Repeating his senior year of high school is the least of his problems. In fact, it gives him the chance to meet the new, more than slightly odd, student, Castiel Novak. Slowly, Castiel helps bring Dean back from his depression. (Destiel) (On long term hiatus)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Remembrance and Repetition

**Author's Note:**

> HERE WE GO! This is my first real fanfiction and my first piece on this site, so please be gentle with me! Yes, this is a Destiel High School A/U with slightly OOC characters, but only just. I would greatly appreciate reviews saying if you like the beginning or not. Thanks so much! - Liberty

1\. Remembrance and Repetition

"C'mon, Sammy, hurry up!" Dean called over his shoulder.  
His younger brother was being painfully slow, stopping to admire every single bin of brightly colored fruit and vegetables along the road. They were beautiful, he had to admit, but he was not interested in fruits or vegetables that day, he had his intentions set higher. They were making their way to Madame Pailor's Pies, where existed the best pies in all of Kansas.  
"Dean, we're in no hurry," Sam shouted as he, once again, stopped to pick up a shiny red apple.  
"Unless that apple is going to end up in a pie, than ,yes, we are in a hurry!" Dean was getting impatient, and he knew it, but the pie was calling!  
Dean could hear Sam sigh heavily as he placed the apple back in its bin and jogged to his older brothers side. He glared up at him but did not venture a word for he knew Dean was not to be trifled with where pie was involved.  
"Do ya smell that?" Sam asked, his grey-green eyes closing and his footsteps slowing.  
"Smell what? Oh, hurry up!" Dean grabbed him by the hand and began to pull him along the road.  
"Dean! Just smell it," he insisted, the little jewels that were his eyes bored into Dean like tiny drills.  
He sucked in an exaggerated breath simply for Sam's benefit, but was pleasantly surprised by what he smelled. Warm, fresh-baked bread.  
"It's pumpkin spice bread, like mom makes," Sam said with a fond, reminiscing smile. "May we buy some? Just one piece."  
"Sam-" He groaned, but was cut off.  
"Dean, please?" He stuck out his trembling bottom lip, tears threatening to spill on to his cherry red cheeks.  
Dean rolled his green eyes towards the heavens at the little boy, but dug into his pocket anyways. He pulled out a five dollar bill and handed it over.  
"One slice." He said sternly before shooing him away to buy the bread.  
When, at last, he returned, he held in his tiny hands a slice of brown bread. He tore it in half, holding up one portion for Dean. He took it and bit a chunk off. Dean had to admit it was delicious. Sweet and spicy, like Halloween and autumn leaves.  
"See? It's good, Dean." Sam smiled, his cheeks full of bread. He oddly resembled a chipmunk.  
"Yes, yes, it's good. Now can we go?" Dean sighed as he turned and began to walk down the street.  
By the time they were just around the corner from Madame Pailor's, Sam had convinced his brother to by a sleeve of butter crackers, a small pound cake, a bag of raspberries, and two shiny, green apples.  
They rounded the corner and the pie stand was in sight. Dean nearly sprinted for it, but managed to restrain himself to a fast paced walk. He arrived at the stand before his brother and what he saw made his blood boil.  
Beneath the brightly painted sign which announced it to be Madame Pailor's Pies, was no more than an empty table… She had already closed for the day.  
Dean spun to face Sam, the anger within him bubbling over, threatening to burst into super nova. He was standing there, a cracker in one hand and a smile on his lips. At that moment, though he would never actually do it, he so badly wanted to smack that grin off of his little face.

. . .

Dean awoke with a strange sensation in his hand. His palm was itching like he wanted to smack someone. Then the tears came…  
He missed Sam so terribly that the memory, which was very nearly ten years old, still brought him to heart-wrenching sobs every time it crashed its way into his head. Ever since his brother had been killed by a drunk driver, Dean's life had been a living hell. Nothing made sense, he didn't feel like being happy anymore, he had gone almost completely catatonic.  
So when his friends started to drift away, he couldn't blame them. He was alone now, living by himself since his parents had died in a house fire the year before. No one cared, it seemed. But no matter how deep he drowned in his own sorrows, he had to keep trudging along. So he got ready for school. Dressing in colors, avoiding black as much as possible, trying to appear okay though everyone knew he wasn't He didn't look in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. He never liked what he saw there. Green eyes devoid of their old light, dark shadows beneath them like someone had smudged grey chalk there. The less time he spent outside, the paler his skin became, causing the faint freckles to stand out more than they had against his skin when it had been tanned. He ran a hand through his short, sandy blonde hair in lieu of an actual comb.  
He arrived in school and slid, unnoticed, into the seat in his first period History class, the room buzzing with animated chatter. From what he gathered, they were getting a new student, not that he cared. They would come in, fall in with one of the many organized cliques, and that would be that. Dean was not in a clique. He used to be part of the clockwork which moved one through the high school system, used to be popular, and well liked. A football star and overachiever. It was what a lot of boys aspired to be, but Dean had let it all slip away. Gradually, at first, just keeping to himself when he sat with his friends at lunch. As time passed, he sank deeper within himself, not talking, slowly drifting to an empty table at the back of the cafeteria.  
Occasionally one of his old friends would try to sit with him and make polite conversation, but it always ended the same way. Blank stares and awkward pauses. The next day, he would sit alone again, like none of the other chairs around him had ever held any chance of a normal friend. Being friendless didn't bother him as much as it should. He didn't feel lost without them, or abandoned. All of those feelings started before his departure from the social scene. There was a small part of him that ached, just slightly, for the feeling which friends brought. Like there were other people who would care if something happened to him, who acted like he did. But that small part of Dean which craved friends was overshadowed by his need for social isolation. Friends asked too many questions regarding his well-being. Every time they barraged him with their inquiries he would have to put on yet another fake smile and say, "I'm fine, thank you," but he never meant it. Not at all.  
"Alright!" Mr. Crowley called the class to order with a single word. "As I'm sure you've all heard by now, we are indeed adding a new student to our ranks." Crowley made a beckoning gesture at the door.  
It opened slowly and a foot clad in a dark brown dress shoe appeared over the threshold, followed by a leg and the rest of a boy. The first thing that Dean noticed about the new comer was the way he dressed. Even though he couldn't have been older than seventeen, he dressed like an adult. To go with the dress shoes, he wore black dress pants and a black jacket. His white button up was wrinkled around the bottom like it had been tucked in and un-tucked many times. He wore a dark blue tie knotted loosely around his neck. Over top of it all was a long tan coat, which may have been a size to big, or maybe it was supposed to hang off of him and hang down over his hands. Apparently everyone noted the unusual clothing choice because a low mumble rippled through the students.  
"This is Castiel Novak and he will be joining us for the rest of the year" Mr. Crowley said no more in regards to the new arrival, just pointed to a vacant seat diagonal from Dean.  
Castiel took his seat wordlessly, hunching his shoulders forward when he sat, his eyes firmly on his hands which rested in his lap. Dean stared at the back of the boy's head for a moment, the incandescent lights overhead making his dark brown hair look nearly black. Castiel hardly moved for the remainder of the class, just shifting his legs, crossing and then uncrossing his ankles. But when the bell rang to announce the end of first period, Castiel shot out of the room like a bullet from a gun. Dean was just the opposite, in no hurry to get up and go. He waited until the class room was all but empty, save for who was shuffling papers around his desk, to gather his belongings and make his way to Biology. It was uneventful, as were his next two classes, English and Health, with the exclusion that Dean noticed that Castiel was also in his English class.  
Fifth period was lunch, and much like the previous two years, Dean headed directly to the back table with his packed lunch. He wasn't really hungry, he hadn't been in a while, but he forced himself to unpack the food and lay it out before him, if only for the illusion of normalcy. He nibbled on a potato chip, the salt stinging chapped lips. He stared at the green apple before him, not really seeing the fruit, just the spot where it sat. That was when, for the first time in a while, a tray slid on to the table and a body dropped into the seat across from him. He raised his eyes, prepared to begin the awkward stare that would drive whoever it was away; he was startled to see that the face across from him was not that of an old friend trying to put themselves back in his life. Instead, he was looking into the bluest eyes he had ever seen. Castiel...


	2. Agreements

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I want to start off by saying thank you to everyone who read and followed my story! It means so much to me! I hope you enjoy this chapter and as always, reviews as greatly appreciated! Oh, and by the way, I don’t have a beta-reader, so there may be some mistakes and I apologize for them.  
> Another thing, In this story, since it is Dean who is “broken”, I wanted to make Castiel a bit more outgoing (not bubbly, just not a mumbling little kid) so he does take charge on occasion.  
> *WARNING!!! This chapter mentions suicidal thoughts and self harm, not it great detail, but they are talked about briefly, sorry if this offends anyone.*

For the first time in a while, a tray slid on to the table and a body dropped into the seat across from him. He raised his eyes, prepared to begin the awkward stare that would drive whoever it was away; he was startled to see that the face across from him was not that of an old friend trying to put themselves back in his life. Instead, he was looking into the bluest eyes he had ever seen. Castiel...

. . .  
2\. Agreements

A beat of tense silence passed as Dean and Castiel stared at each other, green meeting blue for just a second and understanding passing between them. It was a sort of silent agreement. Castiel didn’t talk, or more specifically, didn’t ask questions, and Dean wouldn't glare him in to retreat. Both boys ate their lunch, Dean barely sampling his. The table at the back, despite the din of the cafeteria, was in its own little pocket of silence and for once, the lack of conversation wasn't awkward.  
Lunch came to an end without a single word passing between them, and Dean watched as Castiel gathered his trash and walked away. Sitting by himself once more, Dean blinked at the now vacant chair across from him. It certainly had been an odd experience the new student just inserting himself into Dean’s carefully constructed bubble. He shrugged it off as a one time thing before picking up the remnants of his lunch and tossing them in the garbage. The rest of the day was as uneventful as it usually was, just teachers prattling on about topics that Dean couldn't care less about. It came as a relief to be dismissed for the day, and he made his way home to his apartment, eager to be away from all the chaos that was daily high school life.  
As he sat on the couch eating a bowl of Macaroni and Cheese for dinner, the television flashing with the explosions of some b-list action movie, his mind strayed back to lunch. It hadn't been the first time someone had sat with him after his depression began to sink in, but everyone else who had attempted it had been a previous acquaintance Castiel was a brand new face, one that hadn't even seen an entire day of school at Lawrence High when he decided to sit down with Dean. He mentally shook himself; he was dwelling on it far too much, reading too deeply in to it. Castiel Novak was just a new student who didn’t know anyone, so he sat at one of the less crowded tables. That was all.  
Dean carefully steered his thoughts away from lunch as he headed for the bathroom. He stripped out of his clothes and took a quick shower, letting the hot water soothe some of the lesser knots that his muscles had a habit of twisting themselves in to. He wrapped a towel around his waist and padded down the hallway to his room, a hand running through his cropped hair.  
As he pulled out one of the drawers of his dresser, a glint of silver caught his eye. He withdrew the object and stared at it. It was is fathers misericord, the one that had been given to him by his father, Dean’s grandfather, who had received the hunting dagger from his father. The hilt was ornately carved ivory, swirling patterns that Dean had never been able to figure out. He slowly drew the dagger from its sheath, the ringing metallic note of metal against metal seemed far louder in the silence of the empty apartment. The blade was made of thin silver; razor edges tapering to a deadly point. His fingers tightened around the hilt, the blade laying flat against his other palm. The cold metal seemed to leech away all of the warmth which the shower had given him, leaving him shivering.  
There were no good memories associated with this weapon. It had been the first of his fathers belongings mentioned in his will. In it he told Dean to care for it like it was made of diamonds, because it was precious to him. The first month after his parents had died, Dean had come home from school every day and taken out the knife. He just stared at it, like there was some clue there to how he was going to make it through the rest of his life without his family. A few times a thought would pop into his head as he stared at the shining dagger. He would think how easy it would be to just slide the tip of the blade up his arms; how simple it would be to just let go. He had tested the theory once, just making a shallow cut across his palm. The stinging kiss of the blade sent fire up his arm, it hurt more than he was expecting. He had thought physical pain was supposed to lessen the mental anguish, but at that point his heart and his hand hurt. That had been the end of that experiment. Besides, his parents would have wanted him to keep going. Sam would have wanted that for him. To live the life he was no longer capable of living.  
Dean swallowed thickly past the lump which had formed in his throat. He re-sheathed the misericord and tossed it back into drawer, pulling out a pair of boxers and tugging them on. He collapsed on to his bed, completely ignoring the homework which had been assigned that day. He doubted the teachers even expected him to turn it in anymore as he hadn't done so for the entire year. His grades had slipped dramatically, not that he had been the best student to start out with. That was why he was repeating his senior year; that was why his eighteenth birthday had come and gone and he was still in high school. In a way, being held back had been its own tiny blessing. Without school, Dean would most likely just sit at home all day, feeling miserable. At least with school he could go out in to the world and feel miserable.  
Dean fell asleep quickly, but as usual, he was plagued by nightmares. Some of them weren't outright terrifying, but the memories they invoked hurt worse than any normal nightmare ever would. Just flashes of recollection that tore open old wounds, giving their pain renewed vigor.  
Dean awoke the next morning still tired. Months upon months of restless sleep tended to drain one’s energy. He got ready quickly that morning in hopes that he would arrive at school before the massive gathering of students began. He grabbed a cup of coffee on his way to school, gulping down the hot liquid before he made to History. The first four classes passed in a blur of boredom, and Dean gratefully fell in to the chair at his lunch table.  
He had only just begun to munch on a baby carrot when Castiel slid on to the seat across from him. Dean stared at him in surprise. It hadn't been some first day fluke, Castiel had chosen to sit with him two days in a row. Though, to be fair, the boy had no idea who he was sitting with. No clue just how messed up Dean was. Lunch was a wordless affair once again, and Dean found that he didn’t mind all that much. He was positive that he wasn't good company, so Castiel would probably move to a more talkative table once he realized just how dull it would be at this one.  
But Castiel didn’t leave, and for two weeks, he and Dean sat together, quietly eating lunch. On the first day of the third week, something changed. Not a big change, but something that broke every unsaid rule that had been laid down. Mostly, just the one about not talking.  
“I’m Castiel, by the way. Castiel Novak.” Dean nearly dropped his can of coke when the boy opposite him spoke.  
It was the first he’d ever heard of Castiel’s voice. It was low and gravely, and surprisingly, the first thought through Dean’s mind was, he has a porn star voice. It took him a moment to come back from his shock at actually hearing Castiel.  
“Uh, Dean Winchester.” His own voice was slightly rough due to under use.  
“I know.” Castiel replied and left it at that.  
That was it, just an introduction two weeks after they met. It was a brief exchange and nothing more. Dean left the cafeteria after lunch, thoughts whirring about his head. Did Castiel think that Dean didn’t know his name? Well, he hadn't really showed any clues to suggest otherwise. He only acknowledged his presence briefly before returning his attention to his lunch. Dean kept over thinking the tiny conversation during the rest of his classes and even kept thinking about it when he got home. He managed to shrug it off and sleep restlessly once more.  
If he had expected the next days lunch to return to silence, he was mistaken. Castiel had only been sitting for ten minutes when he spoke.  
“Can I ask you something?” A cold weight settled in Dean’s stomach.  
And there it is, he thought to himself. It was only a matter of time before something happened to ruin whatever it was they had. Questions were dangerous, especially when addressed to Dean. Every answer Dean gave to prying questions pushed people farther away, not that he had been trying very hard to keep them close. But he found that he didn’t want to push Castiel away like he did everyone else. They weren't friends; friends did things together and actually talked to each other, they did neither of those things. Even so, Dean realized that he had come to appreciate the silent minutes that Castiel offered. The short interim between rambling teachers and the deafening silence of his empty apartment. Despite his uneasiness, Dean nodded his head.  
“Ms. Harvelle said we’re doing a research project in English and I was wondering if you want to be partners?” Castiel’s gaze was unwavering as he stared at Dean.  
Okay, that was not the kind of question he had been expecting. Dean remembered his English teacher saying something about researching names, like where they came from and why people were named what they were. He was going to say no, he hadn't been planning on doing the assignment and he didn’t want to drag Castiel down with him, but staring in to those honest, bright blue eyes, Dean found himself contradicting his initial decision.  
“Yeah, okay.” Dean said slowly.  
“Great.” Castiel pulled a pen and slip of paper from his back pack and scribbled something on it. He slid it over to Dean before continuing. “You can come over tonight, or tomorrow, what ever suits you, and we can work on it at my house. Call or text me whenever you decide you want to work.”  
Dean found that he had to clench his jaw slightly to keep his mouth from falling open. They had gone from not speaking at all, to arranging times to go to each others houses, well, to Castiel’s house. It was like he was a different person when he wasn't sure of his place, but as Dean’s partner, he knew where he fit in. The boy was collecting his belongings as Dean looked down at the piece of paper he had been given. In neat, straight hand writing was written Castiel Novak, followed by an address and a phone number. He picked up the paper and shoved it in to his pocket, following in Castiel’s footsteps and gathering his trash to dispose of.  
Dean sat through the rest of his classes, thinking back to the conversation he and Castiel had shared. He had agreed to work on the project, so he would, he was nothing if not a man of his word. As he drove home, his mind kicked in to academic mode for the first time in a while. If he was going to do this project, he wanted to do it right. He needed to find the old books his parents had kept detailing the Winchester/Campbell family trees. As he pulled up into the parking lot of his building, he found himself trying desperately to remember his grand father’s middle name.


	3. Just a Dream

3\. Just a Dream

Dean Winchester was dreaming. He knew it had to be a dream because he was wandering through the hallways of his old house. It was an odd occurrence that he was aware of the fact that he was dreaming, but as he ran his fingers over the floral wallpaper in the upstairs hall, he was positive that it wasn't real. The last sight he had had of these halls, the paper had been peeling from the walls, black and flaking. It had been the last thing he had seen before he had passed out due to smoke inhalation. As if the thought had triggered a reaction, the wall paper under his fingers began to curl and fall away, leaving grey ashes on the cream-colored carpet.  
He bent down and scooped the pale flakes in his hands, he had an absurd urge to press the ashes to the wall in an attempt to make the flowers whole again. Somewhere above his head, he could hear wood splintering as the rafters were consumed by flames he could not see. Dean looked behind him towards the door at the end of the hall. Behind that door was his parents bedroom, the room where the fire had started. He advanced down the hall, not sure if he truly wanted to see what lie beyond the door. His heart hammered against his ribs, each beat pulsing like a drum in his ears. He took the brass knob in hand and twisted it, slowly pushing the door open.  
A sudden flare of light nearly blinded Dean; the fire, which should have been burning for a while now to inflict the kind of damage it already had, burst into life. Orange tongues flicked towards the ceiling, climbing up the walls like ethereal snakes. Flames licked at the bed in the middle of the room, working their way towards the two figures sleeping there. His mother was encircled by his father's arms, her face pressed against his chest. They were motionless as the fire clawed at them, leaving ugly red blisters in its wake.  
"Get up!" Dean tried to call out to his parents, but he choked on the words, managing nothing more than a stuttering rasp. "Dad! Mom!" he tried again, but in vain, his voice was all but non-existent, whether it be from smoke or just a result of being trapped in a nightmare.  
He took a step towards the bed, not quite knowing what he intended to do once he reached the ring of flames, but he never had time to figure it out. The scene around him seemed to melt, as if the room was made of wax. Dean shuffled backwards and his foot disappeared through the floor, causing him to fall. He landed on his back, every wisp of air pushed from his lungs. As he stared into the darkness above him he struggled to suck in a deep breath. Around him mist was gathering, clinging to itself. It solidified into walls and a ceiling forming a room around him. Dean propped himself up on his elbows, his eyes scanning his new surroundings. He was sprawled across a maroon leather chaise, the type they used in a shrinks office. The walls were painted pale green, the carpet two shades darker. Across from him was a woman seated in a plush arm chair. She had olive skin and dark brown hair cut sharply against her jaw line. She wore a long, paisley skirt and a cream peasant top. She was looking at Dean over the top of her half moon glasses, her brown eyes curiously lacking emotion.  
"Dean," her voice was held no intonation, making it even more chilling than if she would have been hissing at him. "Why did you do it?"  
Dean stared at her for a moment, not understanding the question. "Do what?" He sighed in relief; his voice was back.  
"Don't try and hide it. I know it was you, I just want to know why." The woman tapped her pen against the clipboard in her hands.  
"And what is it I'm supposed to have done?" Dean asked, his stomach twisting in uncomfortable ways as he went over the possibilities in his head.  
"Burned down the house." As she spoke these words, a sweet smile curved her lips. "Killed your parents"  
"I didn't-"he stuttered sitting up straight.  
"Dean, stop lying. I know you did." her sweet smile made his stomach churn. "You are such a horrible person. Why do you deserve live? Why are you alive when Sam is dead?"  
Dean opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He worked his jaw, but his tongue wouldn't cooperate and form the words his wished to scream at the woman. He wanted to tell her that he hadn't started the fire; that the candle on his mothers dresser had tipped over and ignited the curtains. He wanted to tell her that he couldn't get to his parents in time, the smoke had gotten to him too quickly. Even the firefighters had said that there was nothing he, or any one else, could have done to save them. But he couldn't say any of those things. He couldn't say anything.  
The woman just laughed, a high, ringing sound that pierced through Dean like a knife. That was the sound that reverberated in his ears as he bolted upright in bed, pajamas clinging to him and hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment, panting like he had just run a marathon and heart thundering in his chest. When he had calmed down enough to stand, he did so, though not steadily. His legs were shaking as he walked into the bathroom, he felt as if he could fall over at any given moment. He turned on the water for a shower, twisting the knob until the temperature dropped dramatically. He peeled off his sweat drenched pajamas and stepped under the stream. The icy water beat against his back and neck, each drop stinging his skin. He stood under the spray for fifteen minutes before he felt the warm water run down his cheeks; he scrubbed the tears away angrily. He was so tired of crying. He used to be so strong, even as a child he rarely cried. Now, every little memory brought tears to his eyes. It was another five minutes before his extremities began to go numb.  
He slammed the faucet closed, shutting off the water. As he stepped from the shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist, though why he bothered he really didn't know; he lived alone, after all. He spent that morning like every other weekday morning; rushing to get ready and get to school early. He didn't even wait for his hair to dry before he left. He arrived at school and dropped down into his seat in History. Other students began to come in, but not as many as usual.  
"There's some sort of stomach bug going around, half the senior class is out." A voice spoke up beside him.  
Dean looked up to see Castiel sliding in to a seat, shrugging his tan coat off and draping it over the back of his chair. His outfits were always similar, today his button up was pale purple and his tie was black. However odd it may be for a high school student to wear dress shirts and ties everyday, it suited him.  
"Really?" Dean didn't know what else to say, but Castiel didn't seem to mind.  
"Yeah, I think some classes may be cancelled." the boy looked towards the front of the room in time to see Mr. Crowley walk in.  
"You've heard right. Quite a few of your classmates have been taken ill, therefore, today is a study day. We'll be working on chapter seven next week, so I recommend working on that." the teacher sat himself behind his desk and took out his own book.  
Dean pulled out his textbook and opened it to chapter seven; he wasn't actually going to read it, but teachers didn't bother him as much if he appeared to be doing so kind of work. He kept his eyes on the page for a moment, not seeing the words or pictures.  
"You should come over tonight." Dean's head snapped up when Castiel spoke. "To work on the English project." he finished, a smile lifting one corner of his mouth.  
"Oh-Uhm." He was having trouble piecing together coherent sentences, he spoke to other people so little of late, that he had no use for them. "Okay."  
"Good. Just come over around five." Castiel refocused his attention on the open history book before him.  
Dean nodded, though the other boy didn't see. He still hadn't found the family tree books, they were probably packed away in a box of things that made it through the fire in tact. The books had been in the downstairs study, which had received the least amount of damage, so they escaped the tragedy relatively unscathed.  
"If you can't come, call me." Castiel said as he packed up his things at the end of class.  
Dean nodded once more and followed suit. He pressed his hand against his jacket pocket, where he had relocated Castiel's phone number to. He didn't know why; he had already put his number in his phone, but he had still kept the little note. The whole rest of the day, Dean was nervous; he hadn't been over to anyone's house in nearly two years, and Castiel was still a relative stranger. He knew nothing about the boy, save his name and where he lived.  
For the first time in a long time, he found himself pondering what to wear when he got home. If he changed clothes, it might look like he was trying to impress Castiel and his family, which he wasn't. But if he wore his boring clothes, the family might look down on him for not taking pride in his appearance.  
"Why do you care what they think?" he asked his reflection.  
He had no answer to his own question, so he turned away from the mirror and grabbed his backpack. He had put the family tree books in it, so the zippers were close to busting. As he walked out the door, he glanced once more at the mirror across the room. He had settled on a pair of his nicer, hole-less jeans and an old, black ACDC t-shirt. It would have to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so short, but next chapter we meet the rest of the Novak's so I need a quick chapter to get there! Also, sorry for the delay, but my internet is kind of unreliable, so sometimes it takes longer to post chapters. This chapter is background filler so we can get to the good stuff! Thanks and, as always, reviews are much loved!


	4. Meeting the Novak's

4\. Meeting the Novak's

Dean had driven past the Novak residence four times now. Each time he went to park at the curb, his foot would find its way to the accelerator and send him down the road once more. On his fifth trip by, he jerked the wheel of the impala sharply, the tires riding the curb briefly. He kept his fingers wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, knuckles white. Slowly, he loosened his grip and turned off the car.  
"They are just people. There's no reason you should be nervous." He scolded himself, but still his stomach twisted.  
He grabbed his back pack from the passenger seat and exited the car. The house in front of him was almost picturesque. It was a two story white structure with dark green shutters and trim. Before it stretched a lush expanse of jade grass. Dean imagined that his family, if he still had one, would have fit perfectly in a house like this. He stepped onto the front porch and raised his hand to knock on the door, but dropped it back to his side. He repeated the action once more before he actually knocked. He waited only a moment before the door swung open. If Dean had been expecting Castiel to open the door, he would have been disappointed. Standing in the doorway was a tall boy, bordering on man really, with short sandy blonde hair and blue eyes. The eyes were the only connection Dean could make to Castiel; they weren't exactly the same shade, but they were close enough.  
"Hello there." The boy's voice had a pleasant, lilting accent to it.  
"Uhm, I'm here to see Castiel." Dean shifted the strap of his book bag on his shoulder.  
"Ah, your Cas's study buddy. He told me you were coming over, What he didn't tell me was that you were so pretty." He leaned against the door frame.  
Dean spluttered, not quite sure of how to respond to the compliment. But, thankfully, he was spared having to answer by a voice from inside the house.  
"Balthazar, stop harassing him and let him in." Dean recognized the voice almost instantly.  
Castiel pushed past the man, who Dean now knew to be called Balthazar, and smiled.  
"Sorry about my brother. Come on in." Castiel stepped back, pulling Balthazar with him.  
Dean nodded and walked in, Castiel closing the door behind him.  
"Would you like something to drink?" Castiel asked, leading the way through the hall and into the kitchen.  
"Sure." Dean replied simply.  
In the kitchen were two other people, a girl sitting at the table and another boy perched atop the counter. The girl had red hair and a sweet smile, she couldn't have been more than fifteen. She was furiously scribbling away at what looked like math homework, but she still took time to smile at Dean. The boy on the counter had brown hair and a sly, impish grin.  
"Dean, this is my brother, Gabriel, and my sister, Anael." Castiel said, pointing to each in turn.  
"Anna." The girl spoke up and glanced at her brother, then Dean. "Please, just call me Anna."  
Dean gave her a small smile and nodded his head. He noticed that she didn't really look like any of her brothers. They all had some variation of brown hair, though admittedly Balthazar's was more blonde and Castiel's leaned towards black. Though, Dean had to admit, despite their different features, they all had a quality about them that seemed to tie them together; almost like the same aura surrounded each of them.  
"So, what would you like?" Castiel asked as he pulled open the door of the stainless steel refrigerator.  
"Water is fine." Dean then realized just how parched he actually was.  
Every time he swallowed his throat dry throat squeezed defiantly and his tongue felt like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth, He tried not to think about the reason he was so nervous, but that was a hard thing to do when the reason was staring at you with three different pairs of eyes. Needless to say, he was grateful when he had the cup of ice water in hand. He gulped it down, hoping none of the Novak's would notice the slight tremor in his hands.  
"All of my school things are up in my room, so we can just work there." Castiel said as he took Dean's glass and placed in the basin of the kitchen sink.  
It was then that a large, warm hand gripped Dean's shoulder lightly, causing him to whip his head around in search of who the appendage belonged to; it was Balthazar.  
"Now, Dean, I hope you don't plan on doing anything shameful to my darling little brother." he smiled but Dean wasn't entirely positive that he was joking.  
"Balthazar, stop. He's not like that." It was Castiel, once more, who came to his rescue.  
Though when Dean thought it over, he wasn't quite sure what the other boy meant by he's not like that. Not like what? Not like a hormone driven teenage boy? Or not gay? It didn't matter; he was correct either way.  
"Can't be too sure, Cas. He might be hiding a demon behind that angel face." It was Gabriel who spoke this time.  
Dean turned his wide green eyes towards the Novak on the counter. His lips were stained red in the middle from the lollipop which he now held between his fingers. His crooked grin did nothing to hide the mischievous air which seemed to linger around Gabriel.  
"That's enough you two. He's only been here ten minutes and already you're pestering him. Come on, Dean, we should get to work." Castiel ushered Dean out of the kitchen and up a flight of stairs.  
The staircase led to a rather long hallway lined with doors. Dean followed his guide down the right branch of the hall and into the second door on the left. The room they entered didn't look like any of his old friends' bedrooms. He thought all boys his age were a little (or a lot) messy and liked to stamp their own personal taste everywhere as a way to claim the space as their own. This, apparently, was not the case for Castiel; his room was immaculately neat. Everything was in order, from the books lined alphabetically on their shelves to the trophies arranged by size atop the dresser. The only truly personal touch that Dean could see was the small table with picture frames crowding its surface. The eggshell white walls lacked any posters of bands or bikini clad girls and the pale blue carpet showed no sign of dirt or clutter whatsoever. The scarcity of decoration may have been due to the fact that they had only moved in about a month ago, but Dean had a feeling that even if the Novak's had lived here for years, Castiel's room would look just like it did now.  
"Alright, so I talked to my father a little bit about my family's names, but it wasn't anything interesting." Castiel dropped down onto the neatly made bed in the corner of the room and pulled his back pack into his lap. Dean carefully sat down at the end of the bed, trying not to wrinkle the navy bed spread too much. "I, like my siblings, was named after an angel. My parents had no reasoning behind them, my mother just liked the way the names sounded. What about you?"  
Dean pulled the family tree books from his book bag and flipped them to the last filled in page. "Well, I was named after my maternal grandmother, Deanne." He was trying to keep his brain focused on the task at hand, but it had been so long since he really worked on anything school related.  
"Do you have any siblings?" Castiel asked as he scribbled notes on a piece of lined paper.  
Dean's chest tightened, the familiar pain gnawing at his heart. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and did his best to keep his voice steady as he spoke. "I did. A brother named Sam, after my maternal grandfather."  
Castiel stopped writing, the emotion in Dean's voice causing him to look up with curious, but sympathetic blue eyes. "Did?" he inquired cautiously.  
"Yeah, he, uh- He died two years ago." Dean's throat seemed to protest each word more and more until the last was barely more than a whisper.  
"I'm sorry, I can't imagine how hard that must have been." That was the end of the topic.  
Unlike his old friends, Castiel didn't try and make Dean talk about his feelings, claiming that it would make him feel better to get it off his chest. Instead, he just gave him a kind smile and returned to his work. While the other boy's attention was elsewhere, Dean quickly wiped at his eyes to make sure that no evidence of his internal grief was present; thankfully, this time his body had spared him the repetitiveness of tears.  
"Ms, Harvelle said that if we worked in pairs we could choose to research one or both families, do you have a preference?" Castiel asked.  
Something in Dean's chest lightened at the thought of not having to discuss his family with anyone. "We could just do your family since you guys have such interesting names."  
"If that's what you want." Castiel nodded and added another note to his paper.  
The boys spent the next hour finding out more about each Novak's namesake; Dean didn't realize so much time had passed and before he knew it a knock sounded at the door and Balthazar poked his head in.  
"Mom want's to know if Dean's staying for dinner. She say's he's more than welcome to join us." Balthazar waggled his eyebrows suggestively as the second half of his statement left his lips.  
"It's completely up to him. Do you want to stay for dinner?" Castiel asked, looking to Dean as he spoke.  
The thought of sitting with so many people and actually eating made his stomach do a little flip. He didn't want to fool himself into thinking that having a dinner with someone other than the characters on his television would ever be something that he could have. He'd rather just stay alone and not fuel the hope of some resemblance of normalcy; as soon as Castiel found out how truly screwed up Dean was, he would sever all ties with him, just like everyone else did.  
"No, that's okay, I should get going." He stood up and began stuffing his books into his bag.  
"Are you sure?" Castiel got to his feet as well, abandoning the nearly full sheet of notes.  
"Yeah, I have a ton of home work to do still." Dean lied as he shouldered his back pack and put a weak smile on.  
"Alright, then let me walk you out." Castiel and Dean made their way to the front door, trailed closely by Balthazar. "I'll see you tomorrow." Castiel said as he opened the door.  
Dean stepped out onto the front porch before saying, "See you tomorrow."  
He walked to his car and pulled open the driver side door, tossing his bag onto the passenger seat. Dean climbed into the car and turned the key in the ignition, making the impala rumble to life. As he pulled away, he glanced back at the Novak residence and caught sight of Castiel waving from the front door. For some unexplainable reason, the image made him smile and for the first time in years Dean felt that the possibility of having a friend might not be entirely out of his reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I AM SO SORRY! I promised I would get this chapter up mid February at the latest and now it's March! With the combination of computer problems and a severe case of writers block, this chapter was really hard to finish. It is kind of short and it's not one of my favorites; but to make up for everything, I'm hoping to post another mini chapter within the next week from Castiel's point of view. I want to thank everyone who reviewed, every time I read your lovely comments I want to write more! Please feel free to review this chapter as your critique is much appreciated (even the negative ones!) Please excuse all of the grammar mistakes, I have no beta and am relying solely on my abilities. Please enjoy.
> 
> Much love,
> 
> Liberty Rose


	5. 5. The Reading of Tragedies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a baby chapter to add some information and hold you over until I can finish the main story line. This is from Castiel's perspective and is just a little insight into the Novak family dynamic.

**5\. The Reading of Tragedies**

As Castiel waved at Dean’s retreating car, an elbow nudged his ribs lightly. His older brother was grinning down at him, a twinkle in his eyes.  
“So, what did you two get up to? All alone… In your bedroom…” Balthazar raised his eye brows.  
“We worked on our project. That was why he came over, after all.” Castiel closed the front door and brushed past Balthazar as he headed into the kitchen.  
“You had a guy who looked like that all to yourself and you didn’t seize the opportunity? I’ve got to say, Cas, you’ve let me down.” Balthazar laughed as he followed his brother.  
“I already told you that he’s not like that.” Cas slid into the seat next to his sister at the table.  
“What a shame. You really missed out Mom, he was almost as handsome as me, right Anna?” Balthazar dropped into the seat across from Anael.  
Anna blushed furiously. “Yeah, I guess so.” She mumbled without looking up from her homework.  
“Then I’ll be sure to meet him next time he comes over.” Mrs. Novak placed a steaming bowl of mashed potatoes on the table and turned to Castiel. “I need to make sure I have nothing to worry about. I can’t have anyone stealing my babies from me. Not yet.” she pressed a motherly kiss to Cas’s cheek.  
“Mom!” Castiel wiped away the kiss, but smiled. “You all need to back off a little. Dean’s, well, he’s a little shy.” his brain worked to find a word that suited his new acquaintance, but even the one he came up with didn’t seem to entirely fit.  
“Shy?” Gabriel chuckled as he repeated the word and fell into his chair opposite Castiel. “The boy looked down right petrified.”  
“Well, I hope you boys didn’t give him a hard time.” Mrs. Novak said, accepting a dish filled with dinner rolls from her husband.  
“Us? Never. We were the absolute picture of respectable young gentlemen.” Balthazar grinned at his mother   
“Respectable gentlemen? Yeah, right.” Mr. Novak took his place at the head of the table as his wife sat in her seat across from him.  
Castiel smiled at his family’s playful banter; it was like every family dinner. They joked and laughed as they ate, it may not have been a traditional dinner with polite chit chat, but it was what they had, and Castiel liked to treasure each moment.   
After dinner, Castiel retired to his room. He sat crossed legged on his bed, his back resting against the wall. The light from the computer screen washed over his features, casting odd shadows around the angles of his face. He had finished researching the origins of Gabriel’s name when something struck him. As he stared at the blank bar of the search engine, an idea struck him. If something had happened to Dean’s brother, there would be some record of it. His fingers hovered over the keyboard; every time he went to type, something would hold him back. It felt like an extreme invasion on Dean’s privacy to look him up on the internet. _Nonsense, that’s why we have the internet. So you can look up things you don’t know_. Castiel repeated the words in his head as he typed “Sam Winchester” into the search bar and hit enter.  
It only took a moment of waiting with bated breath before all of the results appeared. Castiel clicked on the first one; the link took him to the site for the local newspaper. His eyes immediately found the headline, written in bold letters: **12 Year Old Hit by Car**. There it was. No matter how tragic the incident was, the reporters were always so blunt. He took a deep breath before he read on.  
 _Last night, rescue vehicles were called to Tullem Rd. when they received a call from a bystander, saying they witnessed a car strike a young child. When paramedics arrived on the scene, the car in question had fled but the bystander who made the 911 call was still standing on the sidewalk. Alice Martin, 42, later told police what she had seen. “I was walking home from the grocery store when I heard tires screeching, you know, like when someone stomps on the brake when they’re going really fast. I turned around and saw this kid hit the ground a little ways off. I dropped my bags and ran over to see if he was okay. He was pretty beat up, all bloody. I heard the car drive away but I didn’t see it, I think it was white. Then when I saw how bad of a shape the kid was in, I called the ambulance.” The child was later identified as 12 year old Samuel Winchester. He was rushed to St. Anne’s Memorial Hospital in critical condition. Doctors said he had suffered a fractured skull, broken spine, and a broken arm. After arriving at the hospital, doctors worked tirelessly to treat the boys injuries, but were unable to save him. Police are still on the look out for the car that struck the child please contact the Lawrence Police Station at--”_  
 _The article went on to list the phone number and contact details of the police station as well as a very vague description of what the car may look like._  
Castiel hit the back button and swallowed past the lump in his throat. Though he had not known the boy personally, and the article didn’t go into great detail, he still felt the smallest connection to Sam. He considered Dean his friend, even if the other boy didn’t feel the same, and seeing the hardship that had befallen him caused his chest to ache a little bit.  
It was then that Cas’s eyes fell on another link in the middle of the page. The title read **Memorial Held for Victims of Fire**. Beneath the words was a brief glimpse into the page and what caught his eyes was the name “Winchester”. He clicked on it and was led to the same website as before, which wasn’t surprising, seeing as a small town didn’t have very many newspapers. The article was laid out the same way as the previous one and he scanned the words, not really reading them all. The story told of a the memorial held in honor of John and Mary Winchester, who had died in a tragic house fire two weeks prior. Castiel scrolled to the bottom on the page, his eyes falling on two pictures; the first of a group of people, most dressed in dark colors, holding candles and gathered around an elementary school. The second was the one that stuck Cas the hardest. In this one, the same elementary school was in the background of the photo, except before it stood four smiling people. One of them, Castiel recognized instantly to be Dean, although he looked younger and much less worn down. The man who had his arm around Dean’s shoulders had dark hair and stubble. His eyes were kind as he smiled, caused them to wrinkle slightly at the edges. The woman to his right was beautiful, her blonde hair falling in waves around her shoulders. Her arm was around a short, young boy with shaggy brown hair.   
_That must be Sam_. Cas thought as he stared at the little family. The caption under the photograph read “Mary Winchester with Husband, John, and children, Dean (left), and Sam (right) standing in front of Lawrence Elementary School where Mary teaches.” They all looked so happy together.  
In his mind, Castiel compared the Dean in the photo to the one he saw everyday. Past Dean was full of life, eyes bright and smile wide. He was everything that present Dean was not. Now, Dean seemed to be lacking the spark which he held in the picture. Though, one could hardly blame him; not after all he had been through in such a short amount of time.  
Cas exited the page and shut down his computer, pushing it off his lap. It took a minute of just sitting in silence to absorb everything he had just read before he could get up and walk downstairs. His mother was sitting on the couch the television on before her. He dropped down beside her, leaning his head against her shoulder. He tried to think of what it would be like without her. No more beautiful, smiling face and comforting hugs that only she had. The thought alone made his chest tight.  
“I love you.” he said quietly, barely loud enough to be heard over the drone of the TV.  
Barely a beat passed before his mother turned her head, her eye questioning. “I love you too.” She kissed the top of his head softly, smiling against his dark hair. Castiel closed his eyes and breathed in relief; that was what he would miss most if she ever vanished from his life. Her love.  
He took a moment to think about his family. His mom, dad, Balthazar, Gabriel, and Anna. He needed them all to survive. Dean didn’t have anyone.  
It was that moment when he decided that he would be there for his new friend. He would become the family he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this was very short and not that great; I know... I want to thank everyone who's been reading and reviewing. Every time I get a review I makes me so thrilled that someone actually likes what I'm writing that I want to write more just for them. It really does make a difference. I appreciate all of you taking the time to read my story. You guys are all amazing!
> 
> Thank you for everything!
> 
> Liberty Rose


End file.
